


The Backstory

by applecameron



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 08:47:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5961291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applecameron/pseuds/applecameron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of how they come together after Mal's death involves a lot of alcohol.  It isn't sexy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Backstory

Eames had only one thing on his mind when he shut the door behind him, bag with bottles clinking deposited on the floor, and it wasn't Arthur.  Who was sitting on his sofa, still in his overcoat, head back as if he'd fallen asleep on a train or some such. 

"Why are you here, Arthur."  He didn't want to talk.  "If it's for a job, forget it." 

Arthur creaked his way to standing as if he had reached his centennial some 50 years ago or more.  "Miles called you?" 

"About an hour ago." 

"I am so sorry."  Arthur, slump-shouldered, worse than ever Eames had seen him save maybe one time during Project Somnacin when one of their fellow guinea pigs had eaten his gun.  And no wonder.  Eames remembered that day, remembered hearing the shot, how it echoed in the cramped hallways of the building.  How it changed everything.  He remembered Arthur, even then his name was Arthur, wondering aloud if it was murder or suicide.  He remembered asking if it really mattered, then later, feeling guilty that they were alive, talking, like the world hadn't just stopped for one of their fellows.  He remembered some clerk whose face he couldn't summon up crying that Martinez was dead, but never being able to cry himself.  He remembered wondering who would go mad next. 

And here they were.  Mal, jumped.  Dead as sure as those soldiers with their name on the rolls of honor courtesy of the project.  Dreaming: that most insidious poison. 

"Fuck."  Arthur moved then, like he just remembered how, and stumbled over to Eames, still standing just inside his door.  

"My plan," said Eames into the comfort of his shoulder, "is to sit and drink until I pass out."  And then maybe kill himself. He wasn't sure about that one, now, not if Arthur was here. 

"Good plan." 

"Well-defined, I thought.  Clear objective." 

"Mmm." 

"Flexible enough to add a partner." 

"Yeah.  I'm in." 

Eames fetched the other bottles from the kitchen, some glasses, and then they repaired to the sofa to dole out the liquor.  Eames had purchased one bottle of whiskey and the rest cheap vodka, knowing if he made it through the first bottle he'd be either too soused to mind or too passed out to even open the vodka.  Arthur had brought with him a more expensive selection in a duty-free bag.  Between that and what Eames had to start with, the bottles pretty much covered the surface of the coffee table.  

"How long were you traveling?" 

"I don't know." 

They drank in silence, to start, save for Arthur's 'l'chaim' and Eames 'to absent friends' as toasts. 

After a few drinks, "You shouldn't have put it all out at once.  All the bottles.  Intimidating."  

"It's not insurmountable. Put your shoulder to the wheel, Arthur." 

"Hmmmm."  At some point, Arthur had discarded his tie and unbuttoned his formerly crisp shirt.  "I loved her.  Mal," he added unnecessarily. 

"You loved her.  I loved her.  Everyone loved her.  The entire dreamshare community loved her, mate."  He hit his stride.  "Average criminals loved her!" 

"Dogs loved her. Cats! Birds!" 

They both cackled for a bit. 

Eames raised his glass. "Even that Russian Mafia chap loved her!"   

"Oh ho _ho_."  Arthur downed the contents of his glass and refilled.  "Did he _ever_.  Did you see him trying to woo her?  It was hilarious." 

"What did he do?" 

"Roses. Emeralds. And minks.  Furs."  Arthur corrected.  "Sables.  I'm serious, he had some master furrier in his pocket and kept sending her fur coats, hats, all that jazz.  She had to buy three trunks by the end of the job.  I think there was an ermine cape or something in there. The shipping costs were ridiculous.  I finally rented a shipping container and put 'em on a boat." 

"Bet she looked smashing in them." 

"She did, but they lived in California, so not much call for it.  Plus, PETA activists around every corner, you know? All those poor animals." The moment of levity lifted as quickly as it arrived, and they both topped up their drinks. 

"God, Arthur." 

"Yeah." 

"God." 

"I'm sorry, Eames." 

"Were you there?" 

"Yeah."  Arthur's eyes were closed.  "I mean, I wasn't there there. I was at the house with the kids. They were going to stay the whole weekend at the hotel, and I was going to…to watch little kid videos and make waffles. Take them to the beach on Sunday." 

"I wish I'd been there with you."  Poor Arthur, getting the news like that.  Sober-faced policemen at the door. 

"I came as quick as I could."  Open again, guileless, well past pickled.  "I don't know why, really.  I just had to come.  I don't know." He rubbed at his face. "I just didn't want you to get the news in a phone call. Not you. Not like that." 

"S'alright."  Eames' own eyes shuttered of their own accord.  "You did your best."  Then the sound in his ears registered, as Arthur, crying.  "Oh, shit, no, no, I mean it."  They groped until hands met.  

"I don't know why it mattered so much." Arthur crawled over to him and Eames put his arm around him. "I just kept thinking, if I can just win on this one, if I can just get to Eames in time, it'll…make things better. I don't know." 

"You did make things better." Eames kissed his hair. "You got here in time. I'm glad you're here, Arthur.  Really glad.  Jesus, I'm so glad I don't have to sit here alone." 

They drank more, moods swinging from tears to laughter as at any wake.  Not a bad send-off for Mallorie, Eames found himself thinking in a lucid moment. 

Arthur gestured at the icons displayed on the opposite wall. "I like those. What are you painting, these days?" 

"I'm too drunk to remember.  Do you have a scam in mind?" 

"No no no."  Arthur was quiet a long time.  "I just like the idea of you making art.  That's all."  Long fingers flex.  "I haven't played the piano in ages." 

"Come to bed with me," Eames invited, surprising them both as he put his glass down.  "Stay. I'll make you something suitably greasy in the morning and then you can tune the Bechstein.  Just." He stood, didn't fall, and put his hands out.  "Just stay." 

Arthur looked at him for a long time.  "Okay." 

* * *

It's another 3 days, approximately 8 meals and at least 4 more bottles of something to wash them down with before they fuck one another senseless, but by then, it's not exactly an afterthought, really...it's just that Eames has done the dishes, and finished 2 sketches of Arthur tuning the piano that really aren't bad, and you don't just leave after tuning a piano, because pianos are sensitive creatures, and on top of that Eames clearly needs to learn the right way to make crepes, and Arthur's things look surprisingly good in the closet hanging next to Eames' least-garish attire. In the end, it's just that their lips turn out to be made for each other, to their own surprise as well as everyone else's.


End file.
